


Nothing Unremarkable

by nelliesbones



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-11-22 23:17:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18143414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nelliesbones/pseuds/nelliesbones
Summary: He kissed her for all the years he hadn't, kissed her for all the monsters. He kissed her for twenty-six years of loving her and for never ever leaving her again... This is a collection of moments happening in the unremarkable house and beyond. Warmhearted fluff, MS4 did never happen, M for a reason. Circa summer 2018 till today, not in a chronological order.





	1. Sandalwood and Saturday

He watched her squeezing a dollop of creme coloration into her glove-clad palm. A gentle smile curved up his lips as he placed himself in the mirror behind her, seeking the crystal blue of her eyes in the spotless reflection.

Lifting her head, she met his gaze, answering his smile with one of her own.

“You want something, Mulder?”

He hummed contently, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on top of her damp hair. Inhaling deeply, he could smell her recent shower; sandalwood and Saturday. His thumb drew a lazy circle over her midsection, and he sensed both her warmth and the rough silkiness of her robe beneath his fingertips.

“Pizza, beer, the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything plus a kiss. Maybe not in that order.”

“Anyone rereading ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’?” came her amused reply.

Bending his head, he nuzzled her ear with his lips before placing a soft kiss on her cheek.

“Maybe, maybe not. It’s ‘Rock It Like a Readhead Day’ again?” He nodded towards the tube of her favorite brand of hair care products that was lying on the sink.

Scully lifted her hand with a sigh, massaging the coloration into her damp tresses. He released her, giving her some space.

“It’s getting harder to cover up the gray,” she confessed.

“Why do you do it at all?”

She arched an eyebrow.

“Are you kidding me?”

He lifted his palms in the age-old gesture of innocence and shook his head.

“Not at all. I mean, do you think _I_ should color my hair?”

She took a look at his salt-and-pepper, and her face softened.

“Aging suits you, Mulder.”

“Well, _everything_ suits you, Scully. And that does include the big birthday we just celebrated last month. You, me, fifty-five candles, a cake, whipped cream...”

He winked at her.

“Rationally speaking, I know that you’re right. Still…”

Her voice trailed off, and she applied more of the creme.

“I’ve always been a redhead. Well,” a mischievous grin lit up her face, “minus the brief time during which I thought a purple Mohawk would be a good idea.”

He chuckled, remembering the story about her rebellious teenage years; remembering finding those photos in Maggie's old family albums, but then her voice turned slightly serious anew.

“The pigment cells in my hair follicles die, the melanin in the strands fade, turning them transparent. I know that aging is a privilege, Mulder, proof of life. My pigment cells might be dying, but I am not. Still… I struggle with the concept of getting old.”

He placed a kiss on her silk-clad shoulder, careful to avoid the hair she was working on. Mulder knew about her insecurities, of course he did, and he tried to come up with a profound reply.

“Once upon a time…“

“Are you gonna tell me a fairy tale, Mulder?”

He smiled.

“Once upon a time there was a bullfrog sitting in his basement office.”

Her laughter was like music to his ears.

“The bullfrog didn’t have many friends, but one day, a very smart and beautiful princess found him. She had red hair, short legs and her eyes reminded him of the vast blue sky.”

Scully hit him with a towel.

“Ouch.”

“That’s for the short legs. But continue, I’m intrigued.”

“The princess and the frog became best friends, and somewhere along the road, the frog fell in love with the princess.”

He was interrupted once more, this time by a tender kiss.

“And the princess fell in love with the frog. Only that he wasn’t a frog, he was a kind and handsome wizard.”

“There were times when the frog had lost his princess. Maybe she was gone, maybe she was dying, all he knew was that he could impossibly live without her. Other times, the frog himself had to go, to places so dark that the princess, who was a creature of light, couldn’t follow him.”

She remembered dying, the fear of not getting old at all; remembered burying him and the empty place that was life without him.

“It was killing the princess, Mulder.”

Lifting his hand, he brushed her cheek.

“I know it was. But do you know what the princess and the frog never ever cared about, not once?”

Her face burrowed into his palm, and she closed her eyes with a content sigh.

“What, Mulder?”

“Gray hair,” he deadpanned.

She frowned and finally wrapped a towel around her creme-soaked hair.

“In the grander scheme of things, you’re right. Nonetheless… I like my red hair, Mulder.”

He waited for her to dispose of the gloves before drawing her fully into his arms. She melted against him, her hands meeting in his nape.

“And I like you, Scully, just the way you are. I like the old dimples and the new wrinkles. I like how you fit in my arms. You’re my favorite person.”

Tilting her head, she looked up at him, regarding his stubbly face and the gentleness in his hazel eyes. Her hands moved down his shoulders to his arms, feeling the strength underneath her palms, as his muscles twitched.

“Thank you,” she finally said, and he bowed his head, burying it in the crook of her neck.

“Mmpff,” he murmured incoherently into her skin.

She giggled, as his rough cheek tickled her, and when he looked up, he tapped the towel turban on her head with his forefinger.

“How long does this take?”

“About fifteen minutes."

He wiggled his eyebrows and let his gaze roam down her body. The silken robe was midnight blue, revealing more of her skin than it was covering. Experimentally, he tugged at the sash, and it came undone almost instantly. She was naked underneath the garment, breathtakingly naked. Her beauty was ethereal, had always been. She might have lost the youth of Botticelli's Venus somewhere along the way, but he who had known almost every version of her body loved this one the most.

“So… fifteen minutes?”

Warmth spread out in her belly, as he caressed her with his eyes and, soon, with even more than his eyes. Fingertips whispered over milky-white curves, rough against her softness, and she sighed as her body reacted to the utterly familiar touch of his hands.

He surprised her by lifting her onto the sink countertop in one swift move. Her legs opened on their own volition, and he stepped between them, holding her with one arm while the other hand resumed its earlier caresses.

A sigh, as he palmed her breast, his thumb grazing her nipple.

A gasp, as his touch traveled lower, circling the impossibly flat expanse of her belly.

A moan, as he cupped her oh so intimately.

Finally a whispered “Mulder”, as his finger slipped inside her.

His lips crashed into hers, kissing her as if his life depended on it; and somehow or another, it did.

_You've made me a whole person..._

A long time ago, in a brightly lit hallway, he had told her that she'd saved him a thousand times over. Much later in another hallway, a suitcase next to her heels, her voice had broken when she'd said that she couldn't save him anymore, she could only save her sanity. Not so long ago, he'd finally told her that he didn't need to be saved, he only wanted to be loved by her. And love her in return.

She shuddered, as he caressed her deeply, and from her lips he drew a sigh. He was enveloping her completely, invading her every sense, and her eyelids dropped shut, heavy with need. Her head fell onto his shoulder, as her whole world was reduced to him.

“Mulder...”

He added a second finger, holding her just a little bit closer, and her fists clutched the well-worn cotton of his shirt.

“My princess”, he murmured, and she giggled, but soon her giggles got breathless, as he found just the right spot within her.

The softest “oh” left her lips, her silken walls tightening around his fingers, and he kept stroking her until she tensed in his arms, throwing her head back. The towel around her hair came open, just as she lost it, her tresses spilling over her shoulders. Her timer chose the very same moment to make itself known as well, cutting annoyingly into her boneless bliss.

She groaned, and he kissed her one more time before stepping aside and closing her legs.

“You have to rinse that out, don't you?”

An apology crossed her face.

“I'm afraid so.”

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

“I knew the rules. Fifteen minutes. I can handle it, I'm a big boy.”

She surprised him by pressing her hand to his crotch, playfulness evident in her voice.

“I know.”

She squeezed gently, and he took a shaken breath.

“Not fair, Scully.”

“I know. That's why we've got two options here. Number one, you give me ten minutes and then I'm all yours. Number two... fancy a shower?”

A boyish grin lit up his face.

“Now that you mention it, a shower sounds wonderful.”

Sandalwood and Saturday.

Life had never been better.

To be continued...


	2. Light

She’s light, you’re sure of it. She first dazzled you 26 years ago upon entering your office, entering your life. In the beginning, you were blinded, but it hadn’t been long until you began seeking her brightness, looking straight into it.

And seeing something so pure and beautiful changed you.

You couldn't unsee it.

Soon you were craving her.

_I do not gaze at Agent Scully!_

Sometimes it was as if you couldn't stop staring at all. But how could you? She was always there. The cars were changing, the motel rooms were. Seasons and states were changing, and so were the monsters. She was the only constant, your shining star in the never-ending darkness.

You rely on her to keep on shining, and you fail to notice how grossly unfair that is.

Then she leaves, taking nothing but two suitcases and her burning flame with her and you have to realize how much you've depended on her.

For the longest time, you sit in the darkness, indistinguishable from the background, almost forgetting about light at all.

For the longest time, everything is cold and bleak.

Then something changes. One day, you wake up and remember. Suddenly, it seems very important to get back into the light, to find another switch. And you do it. It isn't a light as dazzling as hers, is merely a flicker, but it shines through you, warming your life from within.

And when you meet her again, you manage to look at her without burning.

But...

“You've still got it going on,” you say, and she has no idea how true that is. Her eyes are the brightest blue, her hair is glowing, her skin so, so fair and her smile... her smile shines right into your very being.

And when she asks you to hold her, finally, finally again, something inside of you cracks wide open. You make love to her for the first time in years that night, basking in her warmth, absorbing her sunrays. She's positively glowing and you're so in love with her, so in love.

Afterwards, you make a promise. You promise yourself to never ever extinguish her flame, to nurture it instead, to shine along with her.

So that's what you do.

Unbeknownst to her, you still go to the Cathedral of the Sacraments, donating a votive candle every week. You plant sunflowers behind your house, you clean the windows. She might give you a suspicious look, but you simply shrug and keep on wiping. When summer comes, you repaint the bedroom, and the first days of autumn find you nurturing her back to health after a particularly nasty cold. The only thing glowing is her sore nose, and you kiss the tip of it gently before talking her into trying some of your chicken soup.

One day in December, she comes home and finds the unremarkable house illuminated with a hundred Christmas lights. You've never done that before, and her eyes turn surprisingly dewy, as she regards the sea of light in front of her.

“Mulder...”

You step beside her, proud of your handiwork.

“Don't worry Scully, this is absolutely safe. Plus, I bought energy-saving bulbs, so you don't have to be afraid of our electricity bill.”

She comes closer, wrapping her arm around your midsection, her presence vibrating next to you.

“Mulder, I don't know what to say. It's so beautiful.”

You beam, casting a sideways glance at her.

“Yes, it is,” you whisper because you've always been an admirer of light and it has never shone brighter. 

She puts her head on your shoulder.

“All this for me?”

“ _For_ _us_ , Scully.”

Your voice is full of something you don't have the heart to put into words, but she understands, you're sure of it, for she squeezes you just a little bit too hard. Turning around and enveloping her completely happens without thinking. The shape of her is so utterly familiar, forever imprinted in your arms. She burrows her nose in your chest, taking a deep breath. What does she smell? Whatever it is, she must like it, if the content sigh leaving her lips is any indicator.

“Smelling good, Mulder,” she finally murmurs, and you bend your head, dropping a kiss to her crown, enjoying the silkiness of her hair, her fragrance underneath your lips.

Your warmth is flowing into her, her warmth flowing into you while you are surrounded by light.

Finally, she lifts her head, looking at you so full of glee.

“Well, happy holidays, Mulder.”

Her joy reverberates through you, and you can't stop your lips from curving up. Not that you want to.

“That's the spirit, Honey.”

She lifts herself onto her tiptoes, offering her mouth to you, and you don't hesitate for a second. She tastes like cinnamon, winter and home, as you kiss her, her lips parting softly underneath you, her tongue sliding against yours ever so slowly.

You feel like holding her forever, but then she slips her ice-cold hands underneath your jacket and you almost jump.

“Jeez, Woman, give me a fair warning.”

Her laughter is pearling into the winter night, and you smooth her fiery hair with your palms. One more glance, a last peck, then you take her hand, tugging her towards the house.

“Come on, there are a fire and hot eggnog waiting for you.”

You think of her pale skin glowing in nothing but firelight; imagine her eyes glazing over in pleasure.

You have to smile.

She's light, oh yes, she is.

But so are you.

 

To be continued...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, I have no idea if the unremarkable house has a fireplace. Let's just imagine it for a moment.


	3. Unwrapped

Dana Scully stood in front of her house, waving until the last pair of taillights had been swallowed by the night. She inhaled deeply, breathing winter air and silence. Somewhere, the cry of an owl cut into the late hour. Tilting her head backwards, she regarded the February sky. Dark clouds were moving fast, and the bright moon was annoyingly imperfect a few days after its last full phase. She closed her eyes in wonder.

What a night.

A shudder moved through her body, and she gave in to the cold, turning around towards the unremarkable house and its promise of warmth. Her heels clicked on the wooden planks of the porch, and she kicked them off her feet as soon as she'd set foot over the threshold. Relief flooded her toes, and she sighed.

What a night.

She was met with the sight of Mulder collecting plates and glasses; was met with a rush of love and gratitude. Approaching him on soft feet, she wrapped her arms around him from behind. Dreamy incredulousness lit up her face.

“I can't believe you did this.”

Memories of the last hours appeared in her mind's eye. An enormous cake covered in chocolate and fifty-five candles. And sparklers. A lot of sparklers. A few nurses and doctors from the Our Lady of Sorrows hospital, her book club friends, Skinner and two fellow agents she knew from the FBI gym. Excellent drinks, excellent food, excellent music.

Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Sasquatching had thrown a full-fledged surprise birthday party for her! She couldn't believe it.

“How did you even know their phone numbers?”

He wrinkled his brow.

“I live with you? I work for the FBI?”

She pursed her lips, kissing his back between the shoulder blades.

“I've said it before, I'm saying it again: Wonders never cease with you, Mulder.”

“Is that a good or a bad thing?”

She hummed, letting go of him.

“Well, it was the birthday party I had no idea I could want, but yes, good Mulder, definitely good.”

Fragments of conversations came back to her – Skinner blushing like a teenager upon mentioning his girlfriend, Debbie from the hospital talking about her first grandson, Scott from the book club totally smitten with a guy he'd met at the library. It had been an evening full of something she indulged in way too rarely: the celebration of life and friendship. While it had been surreal at first, having all those people gathered in their little house, it had turned out to be a surprisingly lovely evening.

Lost in thoughts, she failed to notice that Mulder was done cleaning their living-room. The gurgling sound of the dishwasher didn't manage to cut into her daydream, and was it even a daydream if you had it at 1 am? She only noticed when his broad chest entered her field of view, effectively distracting her. Tilting her head, she smiled up at him, and he raised his hand, brushing a few unruly curls out of her face. His fingers kept lingering, grazing her cheek, her lips.

“Thank you for tonight, Mulder. I had a really nice time. What about you?"

He harrumphed, playing with her hair once more, and she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“While I agree that a social life is healthy and important, I'm glad that, out of the two of us, you're the one who does the socializing. But, yes, I had fun,” he admitted.

Mulder wasn't a social person, but tonight had not been about him, had been about her instead. For her, he could do small talk for a few hours; could hand out spring rolls and wine. He could smile at her people and be a presentable guy. Truth be told, it hadn't even been as hard as expected, because seeing her so carefree and happy had been worth it. After all these years, he just wanted to give her the most extraordinary gift: a normal evening.

“What made you do it?”

He pondered her question for a second, reluctant to burden the moment with too much honesty.

“At first I was torn. A new scarf or a surprise party? The scarf is returnable, if you don't like it. The party not so. But it doesn't have to be wrapped.”

She smiled, but shook her head.

“No, Mulder, please. I want the truth.”

He hesitated, but only briefly, because he'd never ever deny her a truth.

“Well, Scully, for once, I wanted to give you something normal.”

He left out all the rest, but she picked up on it, of course she did. Tonight, however, they had celebrated life, and no ounce of regret could find a place in her heart.

“Mulder... I like _our_ normal.”

Lifting herself onto her tiptoes, she rubbed her cheek against his, soft against rough, and the beautiful contrast made her sigh.

“I like the way you think and the way you make me feel. I love our life and I'm so grateful.”

The words washed over him like balm, soothing age-old insecurities deep within. His lips brushed over hers, whispering, “Happy birthday, Dana.”

Her heart skipped a beat, as always when he used her first name, and she smiled against his mouth.

“Well, technically it's past midnight, so my birthday's over.”

He shook is head in amusement.

“Dana Katherine Scully, getting the final word since 1992.”

She laughed out, before catching his lips for real, allowing the kiss to happen. She could feel his hands gripping her hips, pulling her flush to his body, and the intimate contact filled her with anticipation and longing. Take that fifty-five, she thought, as her body responded with a mighty rush, heat coiling low in her belly.

“Mulder,” she sighed into his kiss, and his hands slipped into her jeans from behind, squeezing boldly.

“I've been wanting to touch you for hours,” he groaned, finally indulging in her firm muscles, her soft skin underneath his palms. However, the tightness of her jeans didn't allow him enough room to maneuver, and after futilely tugging at them, he moved to the buttons.

“Your skirts are so much more convenient, Scully,” he murmured in frustration, and she laughed out breathlessly, pushing the offending material down her hips.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, grimacing in pain, as his kneecaps hit the floor.

“Ouch, Mulder, that was so stupid.”

Waving his hand in dismissal, he went back to his task of undressing her.

“Don't ruin my moment of passion, Scully.”

She laughed out, following him to the floor because she simply had to hug his adorableness.

“Nooo,” he protested, “now we're never gonna get you out of them.”

Rolling onto her back, she wiggled her hips, kicking the jeans down her feet.

“See?”

His lips curved up, as he regarded her bare legs and her black panties.

“Impressive.”

“Come here,” she whispered, opening her arms, opening her legs, and he crawled on top of her, studying her for a moment. Red hair in disarray, pink lips, slightly unfocused eyes. His brow furrowed in puzzlement.

“Scully, are you drunk?”

She exploded with laughter.

“God, I hope so, otherwise my alcohol tolerance would be worrisome.”

“Hmm. Are you too drunk?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Seriously, Mulder?

To emphasize her words, she locked her legs behind his back, turning them around in one swift move. His dumbstruck face looked up at her, and she smirked. The roll had brought them closer towards the couch table, and he spotted something next to his hand. He stretched to retrieve the spray can.

Her eyebrow arched up.

“Whipped cream?”

“Must have fallen down. Such a shame we're out of cake.”

He looked at her suggestively, and, just like that, the heat in her belly flared again.

xxx

The playfulness from earlier had given way to some kind of reverence. Undressing had been an unhurried affair, and now, while she was lying in front of him so bare, so trusty, his chest tightened unexpectedly. His gaze wandered leisurely from her head to her feet, cataloging everything from her painted toenails to her slightly smudged mascara.

“I love you,” he stated earnestly, and she blinked, as the heavy awe in his gaze caught her somewhat by surprise.

“Mulder?”

A heartfelt grin lit up his face, and he linked his fingers with hers.

“Everything's OK, Scully, don't worry. In fact, everything's just perfect. You're just so wow, and every once in a while, I tend to notice it.”

A smile bloomed on her face until it matched his, and she took him all in, so gloriously naked beside her. Her legs fell apart, and Mulder tried to ignore the pressure in his groins. Shaking the spray can, he inched closer, pondering how much of the sweet cream he could actually eat for real, before settling on the perfect first spot.

“Recline your head please.”

His voice was smooth and demanding, evoking goosebumps. She did as he wished, sucking in a sharp breath as he applied whipped cream on her throat. It was cold and sticky, but she didn't have to wait long for an entirely different sensation: Mulder's hot mouth on her pulse point, sucking gently. His tongue joined in as well, raspy against her sensitive skin, tasting and licking. Every nerve ending in her body reported the sensory overload, and her eyes fell shut.

“Oh my God,” she murmured, and he hummed, sending vibrations along her skin. Then he bit down, and the sensation rushed through her system like a lightning bold. She gasped, and he licked his lips, admiring the red mark on her perfect skin.

“You're mine,” he growled, and upon opening heavy lids, she found his eyes dark and utterly focused on her.

“I know,” she simply said, and, oh, she was so very well-accomplished and badass and independent, but there were no words to describe how much she loved him like this. His possessiveness was never forceful, but always way too magnetic to turn away from.

The next round of whipped cream hit her cleavage, and Scully arched her back. He took his time to clean her, and the sight of his dark head burrowed between her breasts moved her deeply. Her fingers tunneled in his hair, running through its thickness. He groaned against her chest, shifting his head until his rough cheek was grazing her breasts, moving over her soft flesh ever so slowly. It was almost painful, almost too much, but then he stopped, soothing her tender skin with his tongue, before, finally, sucking one hard nipple into his mouth.

She gasped, and his hand joined in, massaging the neglected breast before swapping places.

“Fuck,” she hissed, and he smiled against her skin. There weren't many things in this world he loved more than making Dana Scully lose her eloquence.

Eventually, he let go of her breasts, leaving her panting and flushed on the carpet. Had he not been painfully hard already, the sight of her so voluptuous and uninhibited in front of him would have been his breaking point.

Blue eyes snapped open, and she saw him wanting her, reveling in the fact that, between the two of them, passion could never be a one-way-street. Mulder took three deep breaths, thinking about baseball, Skinner and all kind of parasites. After calming down a bit, he noticed her knowing smile.

“God, I want you so much,” he stated honestly, before shaking the spray can once more.

Her stomach was his next target, and she sucked in a breath, as the whipped cream covered her skin, leaving behind a cold and tickling sensation. Then his breath whispered over her, hot meeting cold, and she was impatiently waiting for the touch of his mouth. A sigh, as his tongue finally made contact, swirling over her skin, licking, tasting, dipping into her bellybutton. He circled lower, gently nipping her hip, and she was alive underneath his lips, so alive.

Soon, the sweet cream was gone, but this time he didn't stop. His hands joined in, caressing her thighs, coming closer and closer to where she wanted him most.

“Mulder, please...”

Her plea went straight to his groins, and he lowered his head, but even before he reached her, he could smell her. Mulder lost every ounce of patience, finally closing the distance, rushing his lips into her.

“You're so much better than the stupid cream, Scully,” he murmured, before his tongue darted out, flickering over her softness. She writhed underneath his ministrations, cursing as he finally latched onto her tight nub, sucking gently. A rush of wetness pooled between her legs, and he pressed himself tighter into her welcoming heat.

“Yes...”

He licked her until he couldn't remember the taste of whipped cream anymore, until her very own flavor became his whole world. His hands roamed over her body, caressing every inch of her he could reach.

Mulder could still remember the very first time she'd allowed him to do this, could recall every detail. So many years had passed since then, the good and the bad ones. He was incredibly grateful for finally adding to the good years again, for putting fifty-five candles onto her cake, for making love to her in the middle of their living-room.

Suddenly, he had to face her, and she whimpered in protest, as his mouth disappeared from her, but then he gathered her in his arms, his lips finding hers, his fingers diving right between her legs.

And he kissed her.

Kissed her for all the years he hadn't, kissed her for all the monsters. He kissed her for twenty-six years of loving her and for never ever leaving her again. Her hands flew around his back, holding onto him, and right before everything got too much – his fingers within her, his emotions unwrapped in front of her – she broke free, pushing him onto his back.

And it was his turn to protest, but already she was straddling him, finally taking him into her hand, stroking firmly up and down.

His head fell back, and his hips buckled involuntarily.

Blue met hazel, as their eyes locked.

“Mulder, I love my gift. All of them. Thank you.”

He swallowed while trying very hard not to burst in her hand.

“Scully...”

Bending down, she pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

“I know. It's time.”

In one swift move, she guided him to her entrance before sliding down, finally joining them.

Heaven in a heartbeat.

Time stood still for a moment, and he could feel her heat from within, just like she could feel his strength. Then her brow twisted in concentration, as she started to chase the stars. His hands flew to her hips, anchoring her, and she began the age-old dance above him; creating friction and heat. Her body was humming all around him, and she was glowing fairer than the moonlight.

And he could feel her, could feel her surrounding him. She was so small, but suddenly she was everywhere; he could only sense her. He took her by surprise, as he brought himself into a sitting position, clutching her to him, but the new angle allowed him to stroke even deeper into her, even deeper, and on his lap, wholly enveloped into his arms, she eventually started to tremble.

It wasn't because he was stretching her so completely, wasn't because of his scent, wasn't even because of the perfect way he was brushing her clit with every stroke. First and foremost, it was about the sense of belonging that whooshed through her, the utmost devotion she could see in his eyes, the way he said her name.

He was hers; hers with every fiber of his crazy and beautiful being.

Her head dropped onto his shoulder, as she cried out, and he murmured incoherent sweetness into her ear, as she came apart, her silken walls fluttering so intimately all around him.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but then her hands were cupping his cheek and her tongue was against his, kissing deeply, and just like that, without further delay, he lost himself in her; like he had first lost himself so many years ago, like he would do for eternity.

Stars were shooting behind his eyelids, and the last thing he noticed were her arms clutching him tightly.

xxx

When he came back to his senses, he was helplessly entangled, so helplessly entangled in her. She was curled up in his lap like a drowsy kitten, and he sighed deeply, smoothing her unruly hair with his palms.

In a moment, he would slowly pick her up, careful not to stress his knees too much. He would carry her upstairs. They'd brush teeth next to each other before sleepily stumbling to bed. He'd tuck her in, covering her with blankets and love. In a moment.

But for now, time stood still, right between night and morning; right between her birthday and the rest of their lives.

To be continued...

 


	4. Past Tense

_Give it up, Mulder! You've got no chance!_

“Oh my God.”

Mulder shot up, and the remote control fell out of his hand.

_My sniper zombies are everywhere._

“Scully! Sculleeee!!”

_I'll offer you a deal. You give me the Lazarus bowl, and I'll give you Scully._

His eyes were glued to the TV screen, as he was sucked into the past.

“Scully, come here!”

Finally, impatient feet padded down the stairs.

“Mulder, I'm in the middle of... Oh my God? Is this...?”

“'The Lazarus Bowl'. Gary Shandling, Téa Leoni and Richard Gere.”

She plopped onto the couch next to him, her mouth agape.

“I can't believe that this is still out there. It's the worst movie ever made, and if I recall it correctly, that was a direct quote.”

_You don't fool me, Mulder. That bowl is your Holy Grail... Proof positive of the paranormal. You could no sooner destroy that than let the redhead die._

Movie Mulder seemed to ponder these words while present Mulder wiggled his head, bumping her knee with his.

“Well, they got one thing right. I could never let you die, Scully.”

She cast him a soft glance and bumped his knee in return. Onscreen, hell broke loose, as the Lazarus bowl was thrown into the air. He could barely suppress a groan, as movie Mulder and Scully tumbled into that coffin.

As ridiculous as the blockbuster was, it brought back memories of a special time. The cell phones were as big as her shoulder pads, and years of wanting her, of loving her from afar, had shaped his very essence. He remembered the pink of her lips as well as the youth in her face. He'd never been drawn to someone like he'd been drawn to Scully; never before her and certainly not after. Even after years of kissing her, of making love to her, he could still remember the hopeless longing, the crackling tension.

Without speaking, he offered his beer to her, and she nodded gratefully, accepting the beverage. Both of them watched in silence for a few minutes, taking alternate swigs from his bottle.

_I love you, Scully. No ifs, ands or... bees._

Scully experienced a moment of second-hand embarrassment, as Mulder next to her suffered from a brief coughing fit.

“Scully, I've always wondered... how the hell did they know about the bee?”

Her face dropped into her palms, and she murmured incoherently. He turned around, facing her fully, sensing something interesting underneath her embarrassment.

“Sorry, I didn't catch that.”

Scully took a deep breath.

“Well... I told her.”

“Her?”

“Téa Leoni. Her. She asked about us. If we were romantically involved. It was so shortly after Antarctica, after the kiss that didn't happen. So I told her no. We were just partners. Aside from one almost-kiss that was interrupted by a bee.”

“You told a movie starlet that we were star-crossed lovers?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Please, Mulder, it's not as if you were that subtle staring at me.”

He gasped in mock innocence, before shrugging his shoulders.

“I suppose that's true.”

The beer bottle was swapped once more, as movie Mulder and Scully made out on the small screen.

“We never talked about that kiss, did we?” he finally mused.

A flicker of resignation washed over her face, and for a moment, Scully was surprised that even after all these years, there was still a pang of regret woven into the memory.

“There was no kiss, Mulder.”

“You know what I mean. There were more than coworkers, more than friends even standing in that hallway. I'd just as good as declared my love. I was about to kiss you. And you knew that, I saw it in your eyes. The recognition. Hell, I could already feel your breath on my lips. It was happening. But then... We never talked about it.”

She found his hand, and he spread his fingers to make room for hers.

“'You've kept me honest. You made me a whole person.'”

He squeezed her fingers.

“You remember.”

“Of course I do, Mulder. I was so vulnerable that day, and you put your arms and all those beautiful sentiments around me. I wanted to kiss you so badly. The next things I recall clearly are the cold, the goo and your frightened face. And afterwards...” Her voice trailed off. “We missed our moment.”

“I couldn't muster the courage a second time, Scully.”

“But then you did. You kissed me on New Year's Eve.”

She smiled at the memories of his young face lit up with hope.

“Twice, Scully. In the hospital and in front of your apartment.”

Her smile deepened. While their first kiss had been tentative and almost platonic, the second one had crossed the line from friends to something else entirely. He had kissed her a thousand times over since then, but the first taste of him was forever imprinted in her mind – the antiseptic hospital smell still lingering between them, his uninjured hand cupping her face, his full lips parting for her.

“I remember.”

He had left her that night, but the kiss had opened the gates, had been a promise.

“And then _you_ were the brave one, Scully.”

Mulder thought about waking up to her slipping underneath his covers and straight into his arms; thought about lips and hands and whispers in the wee hours of a special night. It had not been his first time to see her naked, but for the first time it had been just for him.

“I wasn't even nervous. Being with you like this felt so right.”

She blinked, and suddenly it was as if she was back in his old apartment in Alexandria. The feeling of his lips on her skin was brand-new and being so intimately connected to him the most overwhelming experience of her whole life thus far. Another blink brought her back to 2019, back to his beaming face.

“Best first night ever, Scully. Even though there came none afterwards to compare it to. At least not for me.”

Suddenly, one more thing they'd never talked about had stomped like an elephant into their living-room.

“Mulder, I..”

He put his finger on her lips, effectively silencing her.

“Please don't tell me. I don't have to know everything you did after you left.”

Scully thought about the empty stage that had been living without Mulder, about picking up the pieces of her shattered being. She remembered one date, one kiss that had felt like the wrongest thing she'd ever done. She had tried to make the transition from pause to play, from pretending to living, but her whole existence was so entangled with Mulder's, and separating them had been like cutting herself in two.

She removed his hand from her lips, kissing his wrist.

“It was my last first night as well, Mulder.”

He exhaled a breath he hadn't even been aware of holding and laughed out.

“Thank God.”

Sudden music brought their attention back to the TV, and both of them watched the credits roll.

“Such a shame, we missed the ending.”

“I think it ended with Richard Skinner-Gere saving the day and getting all the action.”

Mulder shuddered, and Scully laughed out.

“Do you remember the movie premiere?”

“Hell yes. That was shortly after we got together. The movie was shitty, but you were so gorgeous in your black dress.” He grinned. “And out of it. I remember the fancy hotel with its big bathtub. It was impressive how long you could hold your breath underwater.”

He eyed her suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows, and she inched closer, bringing her mouth to his ear.

“I can still do that, Mulder,” she whispered, and her breath caressed his auricle.

And, just like that, the atmosphere had changed, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Our tub is too small.”

Nonchalantly, her hand moved up his thigh until it landed on the fly of his jeans.

“Scully...”

“Mulder?”

He opened his mouth and closed it again, as her fingers applied gentle pressure.

“While I've never seen Assistant Director Skinner's flashlight, I _hardly_ doubt that it could be bigger than yours.”

He groaned in protest.

“Can you please stop talking about Skinner with your hand on my dick?”

She giggled, and jumped onto her feet.

“I'm gonna run a bath. Are you coming?”

Before he could say anything in return, she was already gone, leaving him behind somewhat dazzled; somewhere between now and then.

He sighed and shook his head, putting away the past before slowly getting up.

“You will hurt your back again.”

xxx

Time passes in moments...

Moments of kissing the one you love for the first time. Moments of intimate pleasure. Moments of fear and losing. Moments of “Can you hold me?” and “You're never just anything to me...”.

And while it is a wonderful thing to reminisce about those memories, nothing beats making new ones.

Christmas, birthdays, ordinary Saturdays.

Sexual encounters in bathtubs way too tight.

She didn't hurt her back that day, but only because she was stubborn and had to be right. The smirk she sported afterwards was the very same face she had made all those years ago in Hollywood, and past fell into present, as he pulled her dripping wet body into his arms to kiss her; kiss her for every precious moment ever shared.

And it was another one.

Another moment added to their memories.

To be continued...

 


	5. Awakening

As always, the early morning sun is waking you, and in that blissful moment right before realization kicks in, everything is warm and comfortable.

You can feel a smile on your lips, as you stretch. Joints crack, reminding you of fifty-five years of running in heels, but it's too early to judge; so far, you're just taking stock.

Your legs are bare, and you can feel the delicate friction of silk, as the blanket brushes over your skin; as something else entirely brushes over your skin.

Another leg, a leg less smooth than yours. The leg belongs to the arm wrapped around you from behind, belongs to the big hand splayed out on your belly. The source of everything warm, everything comfortable is holding you in a safe embrace, grazing your nape with every exhale.

It's April; just like it had been April when you have first woken up like this nineteen years ago, so wholly intertwined in more than one way.

You blink against the light, and everything's slightly unfocused as your eyes get used to the new day. Then you turn around in his arms, careful not to stir him, but eager to study his face, like so often at this early hour.

His eyes are closed, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks; meeting other shadows. Lines of time, morning stubble, natural dimples. He is so relaxed in sleep that you can still find traces of his boyish enthusiasm, and you love them just as much as you love the proof of a life lived.

You have lost this men three times already, and the knowledge of living without his warmth can't be forgotten. Nothing in life is for granted, especially not happiness. You have learned that the hard way.

But you have learned other things as well.

That loving him is like breathing; it's like an imperative woven into your very cells. You could never stop, at least not willingly.

Without him, you're not Scully anymore. While you cherish the rare times he calls you Dana or Honey, you have to be Scully. Period.

You have learned that your body goes into hibernation without him. No other touch could ever replace his, no other body fill yours.

And you've come to the realization that the symbiotic connection you two share isn't a one way street, for he has told you under the covers of the night that you are his everything.

You strongly suppose he's planted those flowers in the backyard solely for you, and while you've never even been a flower person, you're a Mulder person.

Having him back feels like a never-ending sunrise.

A sudden sensation tears you out of your solitary musings, the discomfort of dampness between your legs. You press your thighs together, deciding to ignore it for a moment, the sticky reminder of last night's pleasure.

You love the feeling of him moving inside you, you love everything about it.

The way his bottom lip feels between your teeth, the way he sighs into your mouth. A little bit of bliss, a little bit of wonder, it gets you every single time. He's usually tentative at first, as if testing the waters. As if you might actually say “no” which you have never ever done. Even when darkness was clouding this mind, when his spirit had left him, you have always welcomed him into your body. You did it with tears behind closed eyes, but you were craving the connection.

You love the way his palms cup your breasts, you love his dark head buried between your legs.

And when he's fully between your thighs, entering you... it still takes your breath away how he fits so perfectly. You love riding him, dictating the rhythm. His eyes are usually all over your body, his open admiration such a mighty caress. Sometimes he takes you from behind, and his gentle dominance is a powerful drug as well. But if you're honest, you prefer when he's above you, completely covering you with his body. He's so strong, yet so gentle with you.

He stirs something ancient deep within, and you love feeling him with ever fiber of your being. You love his gaze so very focused on you, focused until it gets unfocused and his eyes glaze over. You love how he sometimes pauses every movement, just looking at you as if he's seeing you for the very first time. You love the big smile splitting his face just as much as the furrowed brow when he's trying not to come, when he's waiting for you to finish first.

And when he comes... losing control with you, because of you, shuddering and crying your name before emptying himself – you love that part as well. Usually, you're equally spent and shaken, your body warm and flushed in the aftermath of your orgasm, and sometimes his big frame collapses right on top of you.

That's your favorite part.

He always apologizes for crushing you, but you hold him tightly in place, enjoying his display of trust. He trusts that you can handle it, that you're strong and equal. He trusts that you tell him when it's too much, and you would, except that it never is. Too much. It's always just enough and exactly right.

His breathing pattern changes, catching your wandering thoughts. His lashes are fluttering, and he licks his lips, still halfway in the land of dreams.

“You're staring at me.”

His voice is raspy, and your heart overflows for him

“Yes,” you simply say, watching his face while he's opening heavy eyelids. 

A first glimpse of hazel. A smile. He pulls you even closer, his face nuzzling your neck.

“Good morning,” he breathes, and you bring your arms around him, enjoying a few more moments of this right before the day begins.

“Good morning,” you answer because good it is, this morning. Good is every morning that has you awakening next to him.

“I had the strangest dream, Scully. It was a frog talking to me about about a blue door.”

You chuckle while combing his hair with your fingers.

“And what did he say about that blue door?”

He kisses your jaw, and you sigh, almost scared because you're so happy and content.

“I have no idea. But there was a doe as well.”

“Hmm, you saw a doe on the fields behind our house the other day.”

“Do you think my dreams are that simple, Scully?”

“I don't know, are they?”

He pauses for a moment, his tongue caressing your ear. His hand dives between your legs, finding old and new wetness.

“Mulder...”

You're shuddering, and his hand stops. His lips find yours, brushing them once, twice while murmuring, “Is this a 'no'?”

It has never been and you can't imagine it ever would. You wonder how he can still doubt that you want him just as much as he wants you.

“Hmm... I'm just feeling a little gross,” you admit, and his fingers resume their gentle caress.

“But, Scully, it's _our_ gross.”

You laugh out, but the sound turns into a silent gasp, as he rolls you around, covering you with his whole body, and right before his mouth descends on yours, there's that look again, the purest amazement. As if he still can't believe that you're really here, lying beneath him with your legs and arms and heart wide open.

Then he's kissing you, and it's so familiar, so slow and intimate.

Your nightgown is bunched up around your midsection and, wiggling your hips, you can feel him hard and hot against you. As your hand slips between your bodies and into his boxers, you praise the male anatomy and mornings in general, but then he's in your hand and nothing else matters.

He groans into your mouth, and the sound vibrates against your lips. You pump him once, twice, hard, just as he likes it, and already you can feel his control slipping. Which is fine for you, he's way too controlled most of the time anyways.

You know that it's only Monday and time is rare, but you don't need time, he doesn't need time; you only need each other. So you're guiding him to your center, and he follows willingly until he's slowly pushing his way into your body.

Then he stops, and his forehead touches yours, as he sighs. You open heavy-lidded eyes, and he lifts his head, a slow smile spreading out on his face.

And there are a million words in this smile; words about love and gratitude and beauty.

You could stay like this forever, except that you can't, because you need more of him and you need it deeper. Your hands slide around his back before coming to rest on the gentle curve right above his ass, and you're pulling him tighter into you, encouraging him to move. His eyes flutter close, and then he begins to rock.

To rock. Rock you. Rock your world.

You won't last long, you never do in the morning, but neither does he.

He is everywhere, everywhere in and around you, invading every sense. You are completely mulderized, completely his, and even though that's quite an archaic concept, you don't mind because he's completely yours as well.

You can feel him so deep within, you can feel him brushing your clit, you can feel him massaging your breasts, you can feel him sucking your neck and you can feel him painting stars on the ceiling just for you, and you rise your body to catch those stars with him and you gasp, as they explode and blind your eyes, and you shudder and shake until eventually, your heartbeat is racing and you're lying spent, completely covered by him and stardust.

Breathe. Breathe again.

Finally, you open your eyes, and once again, the stardust is overwritten by the bright morning sun.

He is crushing you in the best way ever, and little aftershocks are tingling through your body. Something incoherent is murmured into your hair, and you kiss his temple. He tries to move, but you hold him tight.

„Stay. Just for a moment.“

„Honey, I could stay like this forever.“

He's out of breath, but so are you.

And forever sounds wonderful.

To be continued...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the show is so hazy on the timeline, I'm placing the events of "All Things" in the month the episode premiered.


	6. In Sickness and in Health

At first, it was a ticklish sensation in the back of her throat that could be shrugged off. She drank a cup of chamomile tea with honey and went to bed early.

The next day, her nose joined in, and by the third day, she got dizzy in the shower and had to sit down.

That's how Mulder found her, dripping wet and trembling like an aspen leaf. His eyes got as big as saucers, instant concern written all over his face. He helped her out of the shower, wrapped her into a huge towel and put her back to bed.

Ladies and gentlemen, Dana Scully was sick.

She didn't get sick, at least not in the way ordinary people did. Granted, there was that whole abduction slash cancer slash alien DNA thing going on, but other than that, she tended to be perfectly fine.

She missed work on Thursday, which was alright since she had a hard time staying awake anyways. At 6 pm, Mulder found her in almost the same position he had left her, the toast he had made for her in the morning still untouched. He was wearing a slightly crumpled suit and concern, as he greeted her.

On Friday, Scully missed work again and she spent most of the day sneezing into overused tissues. Mulder had surrounded her bedside with little water bottles and drinking three of them was her biggest achievement. She felt gross from head to toe, but her head was still spinning from time to time, and she didn't desire an encore performance of her shower disaster.

She sighed in relief, as she could hear Mulder's car coming up their driveway, even though she felt kind of pathetic to acknowledge how needy she was.

A smile, as she listened to him unlocking the door. Familiar sounds, as he kicked off his shoes and dropped the keys onto the counter. More sounds, as he rummaged around downstairs. Finally, she could hear his soft steps coming in her direction. The old stairs creaked under his weight, and then his head poked around the corner.

Five o'clock shadow, his tie undone, his eyes warm and focused on her. Already, she could breathe more easily.

“Hey,” he greeted, and the sight of her completely surrounded by crumpled tissues could have been disgusting had it not tugged at his heartstrings so much. Her nose was red and swollen, her ponytail beyond mussed up and Mulder couldn't remember the last time he had seen her like this. If ever. Scully simply didn't get sick, at least not normally. She did it in dramatic arcs and grand gestures, but in all those years, he'd never seen her suffering from a mundane flu. 

“Hey,” she croaked, her voice rasping like sandpaper.

Protectiveness kicked in, but unlike so often before, it didn't came as a mighty wave that made him pull his gun and rush to the ends of the earth for her; no, this time it was like a soft flow of infinite warmth.

He wanted to take care of her.

Four steps brought him to her side, and he sat down next to her, taking her hand into his. He bent down and kissed her forehead, noticing that it felt less hot than the day before.

“How are you?”

She shrugged.

“A little better. Not much, though. Mulder, do I smell?”

Bending down once more, he burrowed his nose in the crook of her neck, finding nothing unpleasant, only the natural scent of her intensified. Pursing his lips, he kissed her sensitive skin, before murmuring.

“Like raindrops on a meadow.”

“I'd roll my eyes, but my head hurts too much.”

Mulder chuckled.

“Have you eaten anything at all?”

She shook her head, and a coughing fit chose that moment to torment her body. Mulder patted her back in sympathy.

“That doesn't sound good. You're sure you don't need a doctor?”

“I,” cough, “am,” cough, “a doctor.”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes.

“Alright. So here's the plan. I'm gonna start the chicken soup before grabbing a quick shower. I already went to the farmer's market and bought all the ingredients.”

Her eyebrows arched up.

“Chicken soup? You?” 

He shrugged.

“Sure.”

“Mulder, I don't wanna appaear overly skeptical, but have you ever done that before?”

“Relax, it's your mother's recipe.”

Her eyes widened, and suddenly a wholly different kind of ache tightened her throat.

“Mom? How? Why?”

“I... Well... It was shortly after you'd left. Maggie came over, a casserole in her arms. She opened all the windows and made me clean the house. Then she set the table for two and talked me into eating lasagna. She said 'Fox' and...” His voice faltered, and a wistful smile played around his lips. “Scully, she said a lot of things to me. In the end, she left a folder of her recipes and told me she'd come over for dinner every Tuesday. Which she did.”

Scully thought about her mother. A sailor's wife, her feet firmly grounded in reality, her heart full of faith; enough faith for the three of them, as it seemed. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek, and he brushed it away with his thumb. Her voice was even hoarser than before, when she finally spoke.

“She never told me.”

“She didn't want to intrude.”

“Well, that would've been a first. Why have you never mentioned that you can cook?”

He wiggled his head and chuckled.

“After my third attempt of following a recipe, Maggie decided that sandwiches qualified as dinner. But she taught me how to prepare the chicken soup. She said it's comfort turned into a dish. And looking at you right now, you could really need that comfort.”

She leaned into him for a hug, and he cradled her in his arms for a moment. When she looked up, her eyes were bright and clear.

“Thank you, Mulder. Mom would have been so happy, seeing us like this.”

“Hmm, she'd tell me to hurry up and get the chicken into the pot. Which I'm gonna do.”

One more kiss, and he was gone, but she wasn't alone anymore. The memory of her mother took a seat beside her, smiling gently, caressing her cheek, her tousled hair.

_He loves you so much, Dana._

_I know Mom. And I love him just as much right back._

_Are you happy?_

_Yes, very._

_I prayed every day for you to find your way home._

_Mom, I miss you._

_Don't miss me, Dana. Enjoy life while it lasts. I'll be waiting for you._

The loud beep of their smoke detector tore her out of the bittersweet moment, and Scully sat up.

“Mulder?”

“Don't worry, just a misunderstanding between me and the stove,” came his voice from downstairs, and then the house turned silent once again. 

“Please don't burn down our house, Mulder. I already lost the other one to a fire.”

“I can't hear you.”

She had to cough once more and, upon recovering, she found him re-entering their bedroom.

“Are you sure you should leave the chicken alone?”

“No, which is why I came back.” He smirked, as she rewarded him with the slightly exasperated look he knew so well. “Oh, you mean _that_ chicken down there. Yeah, it's perfectly safe, Scully. Relax. I'm gonna take a shower.”

“Seriously?”

“Don't you trust me at all?”

“Okay, since you have to make it about trust... But, Mulder, I really like this house.”

“So do I, Scully. Especially with you in it. Do you need anything before my shower?”

She pondered his question for a moment, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Honestly, I'd like to join you. I feel rather disgusting, but I'm still kind of unsteady on my feet.”

“Hmm, I don't know. Is that wise, Scully?”

“Probably just as wise as leaving the chicken soup unsupervised.”

He nodded.

“Point taken. But this is gonna be a really quick shower, okay? In and out in five?”

“Deal.”

xxx

The shower greeted them like the old friends they were. It had seen them many times together, that shower, but usually Mulder and Scully stayed way past getting clean, their bodies melted into each other while the warm spray rained over them.

Today, however, passion didn't follow in their wake. They undressed carefully, she combed the tangled mess of her hair, and he helped her into the enamel, making a mental note to invest in a walk-in shower one of these days.

She was shivering and goosebumps were covering her skin, so he maneuvered her under the warm water as soon as possible. Mulder didn't lose time and reached for her sponge and shower gel, rubbing until froth appeared.

Vanilla and sandalwood.

He inhaled deeply, as the scent invaded his nostrils; the scent of her and home and happy days.

“You need help?” he asked softly while offering her the sponge, and she hummed.

“I'm not exactly sure if I need it, but help would be nice.”

She wrapped her arms loosely around his neck, as he lathered her. Usually, the sight of her so exposed and trusty in front of him was a mighty aphrodisiac, but right now, there was nothing sexual coloring their intimacy, as he moved the sponge over her curves and valleys.

“You wanna be shaved?”

“You thing you can manage it without cutting me?”

He reached for her razor.

“Lift your arms, please.”

She followed his request without hesitation, and he shaved first one armpit, then the other. When he was done, he knelt down in front of her. She used his shoulders to steady herself, and Mulder moved the sharp blade carefully down her legs. He slowed down somewhat upon reaching the knobbly roundness of her knees, and she could hear him whispering, “Just like a chin, just like a chin.” A mighty surge of love and gratitude flooded her chest.

Then her legs were perfectly smooth, but before he got up, he placed a chaste kiss right above the soft triangle of auburn at the juncture of her thighs.

“Not touching that, Scully,” he murmured, finally putting the razor away and reaching for her bottle of shampoo.

Her eyes feel shut, as his fingers massaged her scalp, but as soon as her vision went dark, she got light-headed once more. She began to sway, and he grabbed her around her waist.

“Whoa, Scully?”

She nodded, inhaling deeply, blinking once, twice.

“Vertigo,” she murmured, and he made quick process with her and his hair.

Lather, rinse, lather, rinse. Thirty seconds later, she was wrapped into terrycloth, as he was toweling her dry. Another thirty seconds later found her in a fresh set of PJs and Mulder in sweatpants and a T-shirt.

At last, he brushed her damp hair and braided it with care. The air was quiet, as she watched him in the mirror.

“It always astonishes me that you know how to do this,” she finally admitted, and he caught her unguarded eyes in the reflection.

“Well, I had a sister.”

“I know.” 

There was no resentment, no guilt, no regret in his voice, and he'd come a long way to get to this point; they both had.

Finally, he was done, taking in her rosy cheeks, her clear eyes.

“How are you?”

She rewarded him with a big smile.

“Like I've made the transition from flu-monster to human.”

He chuckled and pulled her into his arms.

“You wanna come downstairs for a bit? Settle down on the couch? I'd like to put clean sheets on the bed before you get back into it.”

“Yes please, that...”

She didn't get a chance to finish the sentence because, for the second time that evening, the smoke detector began to beep.

He cursed and hurried down the stairs, leaving her behind slightly dizzy and worried.

xxx

They say a watched pot never boils. However, an unsupervised pot almost definitely burns, as Mulder found out that night. He pulled off a miracle and could save the chicken, though, turning it into a mean soup.

It tasted like comfort and childhood, and was probably the sole reason why she woke up feeling a lot better on Saturday morning. At least that's what Mulder said, claiming full responsibility for her recovery.

Her braid was still in place, albeit a little tousled, and a few hairs had come loose, curling around her ears. He served her breakfast in bed and shared his newspaper with her.

On Sunday, she was back in real clothes, taking a walk through the autumn colors with him, and by Monday, she was as good as new, bad-ass and smart and accomplished.

And he loved her for it.

He loved the way she stared down suspects, the way she understood a crime scene, the way she could form a real sentence out of medical terms. But, and he would never say that out loud, taking care of her... taking care of her had touched his heart in a million unexpected ways.

It wasn't that he reveled in her weakness, but he liked that he was allowed to see her, to help her in her most vulnerable state, and maybe it was because she had taken care of him so often in the past or maybe it was just that he finally completely understood that she was back for real.

Scully was done leaving him, she was here to stay.

In sickness and in health.

To be continued...

 


	7. Summer Storm

He didn't say a word on the entire drive back home. Tension war radiating off him, and his lips were firmly pressed together. The air was thick and heavy, a thunderstorm approaching, and it wasn't lost on her how perfectly the weather matched his mood.

Mulder was angry, and Scully couldn't stop stealing sideways glances at him.

His anger was like a force of nature, and something primeval deep within wanted to meet it with feral heat; something else inside of her, probably the voice of reason, reminded her that his anger was maybe just a tad understandable.

He was angry  _at her_ . Mad. Furious. She couldn't remember the last time she had evoked those feelings in him, and while she was slightly sorry, it didn't work her up too much; too fresh was the memory of him not mustering any feeling at all, not even anger. 

Scully fidgeted in the passenger seat. Mulder could notice it out of the corner of his eye, and almost against his will, his mood softened a bit. She must be in pain, and he couldn't wait to undress her to catalog and kiss her bruises.

No.

He shoved the tender sentiments aside. Not kissing her bruises. Hell, she shouldn't have those bruises in the first place. Mulder tried not to look at her. The nurse had provided her with scrubs – the camaraderie of women, the camaraderie of medical workers firmly in place – but the blue outfit reminded him of her own dusty and partially torn clothes on their backseat. Reminded him of why exactly he was so angry at her.

“Mulder...”

She had always been able to roll a multitude of feelings, words and wishes into the few syllables that formed his name, and he bit down on his lip to suppress the sudden urge to pull her into his arms.

“I'm mad at you,” he finally spat out, and she sighed in relief. At least he was talking to her; was talking for the first time since they'd left the hospital.

“That I noticed,” she answered softly.

“Scully, how could you...”

She cut into his words.

“... do my job? Because that's what I have done.”

“You didn't wait for backup. Didn't wait for me! Instead, you followed a shapeshifter into a collapsing building.”

“He wasn't a shapeshifter, Mulder, just a fairly big and hairy human male on steroids.”

“So you followed a big, stoned, dangerous man into a collapsing building?”

“How often have you pursued a suspect without waiting for me?”

“A collapsing building!”

Slowly, he was beginning to piss her off, and he could tell from the way she snarled at him.

“Seriously, Mulder? Because this is the pot calling the kettle black. You were buried in a trailer and blown up. You _let_ yourself take by a spaceship, you _let_ yourself drug. There is hardly any danger you haven't walked into with your eyes wide open.”

“But...”

“No, no 'but'.”

He jammed on the brakes and stopped the car in front of their house. Mulder unfastened his seatbelt and turned to her, but she was already opening her car door and getting out.

Her hair was fiery against the yellowish sky, and a first lightning bolt cut into the atmosphere. Mulder hardly noticed it; to him, she was a vision as mighty as the spectacle of nature around them and just as electrifying.

Mulder hurried to get out as well.

“But I love you.”

She turned around on her heels, her eyes like swirling clouds.

“Yes, and I've always loved you as well, each and every time you put yourself in danger. We're equal, Mulder. Please don't forget that.”

Thunder roared through the air, and his anger crumbled, leaving behind nothing but raw emotions. He reached out to her, just as she stepped into his arms. Her nose burrowed in his collar, she murmured, “This is our job, Mulder. We do reckless things sometimes.”

He tightened his grip on her and lowered his face into the utterly familiar comfort of her hair. Taking a breath. And another one. Finding the scent of antiseptics and dust covering her very own essence. 

“I guess I'm not used to _you_ being the reckless one, Scully,” he finally admitted, and she chuckled.

“At least, I caught him.”

“I know you did. I know you're very accomplished and strong and amazing. Hell, the stairwell collapsed and you fell two stories, landing on our suspect and handcuffing him almost instantly. I just... I hate rushing to a hospital, looking for you, shit-scared of what I might find.”

Terrycloth robes, mint green hospital gowns, blood staining a complexion way too pale. Hot tears shed in lonely nights, monitors beeping in despair, fear-gripped hearts beating sans protection...  There were too many memories that would never faint.

She pushed her hands underneath his jacket, feeling the warmth of his skin through the shirt.

“You know, Mulder, that feeling is mutual as well,” she simply stated, reminding him of all the times _he_ had been the one with a fate unknown. 

Wetness landed on her cheek, and for a moment, Scully thought he might be crying, but then the sky burst open, drenching them within seconds.

A lightning bolt joined in, then thunder. The raindrops turned to hail, as if hardened by anger itself, and it was painful how those cosmic tears were pelting down on them.

Mulder took her hand, dragging her towards the house, and the wooden steps of their porch were slippery beneath her heels.

Strong wind gusts were tugging at her hair, at her damp clothes, replacing the yellowish stickiness that had surrounded them just moments ago with a fresh kind of cold. Scully shivered, but it was a good kind of shivering; it was a cleansing kind of cold.

She stopped under the cover of the veranda roof, resisting the tug of his hand. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the clean air.

“Just a moment, please.”

He paused as well, and she could feel his presence behind her even before he wrapped his arms around her waist; even before his exhale caressed her ear. Now that his anger had evaporated, it seemed as if he couldn't stop touching her. Scully already knew this behavior from past close calls, and it had long stopped annoying her. Had turned into quite the opposite, in fact.

Life. Love. Affirmation.

Another lightning bolt, this one further away, the sound of thunder echoing from a distance.

She leaned back against his solid frame, back into his body heat. The movement stretched the sore skin covering her ribs, and she winced slightly.

“Do you need something against the pain?”

She shook her head, her damp curls tickling his nose.

“No, just you.”

Her words went straight to his heart, soothing  _his_ pain.

“Let me run you a bath,” he offered, and she nodded.

“That would be nice. Just one more minute.”

His hands were still clasped on her belly, and she covered them with hers. His fingers loosened, making room for hers, brushing and entwining.

“You know that I'm proud of you, right? Even when I'm angry. Proud to be your partner in every sense of the word,” he murmured after a while, and the smile on her face was bright enough to push the dark clouds aside.

“Thank you, Mulder,” she finally said, and he tried very hard not to squeeze her too tightly.

Eventually, the thunderstorm subsided, leaving behind breathable air and a curtain of soft raindrops.

Raindrops that were whispering against the windowpane, while she took her bath.

Raindrops that were sighing in the air, as his lips moved over her porcelain skin, placing feather-light feel-better-soon kisses on each and every purplish bruise.

Raindrops that settled on flower petals and blades of grass, as his kisses went from soothing to arousing; as he moved below her abdomen, moved to the place where nothing hurt and everything was silk and pleasure.

He couldn't stop touching her, never could, and, oh boy, she couldn't put into words how very much okay that was for her.

Life. Love. Affirmation.

His tongue sent a million lightning bolts through her body, as he reconnected with her on the most intimate level possible, and her fingers flew into his hair, holding him firmly in place while he was pouring all his feelings, all his angst into her.

She came against his face, unabashed and without restraints, and the earlier thunderstorm paled in comparison.

Afterwards, her breathing was ragged, her cheeks flushed, and Mulder pulled the blanket over her warrior body, determined to let her sleep and heal.

“What do you think you're doing?” she asked, still catching her breath. 

“You need to rest,” he said, but she put her finger on his lips; lips that still smelled of her.

“No. Equal, remember?”

Every word of protest died in his throat, as she moved down his body, finding him hard and desperate, and how was he supposed to be a gentleman when she did not want gentle but this?

Her lips were hot and unbruised, making him forget how close she had come to dying today, making him feel very much alive instead. It didn't take long until he was the one with the flushed cheeks, crying out her name, and gratitude filled her, as he came in her mouth.

Gratitude for his anger, his protectiveness, his love, his desire.

Gratitude for the whole beautiful rainbow of feelings.

To be continued...

 


End file.
